


Buttons

by SherlockianSyndromes



Series: Sherlock Drabbles [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clubbing, Drabble, M/M, Purple Shirt of Sex, Sexual Tension, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-25 21:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/pseuds/SherlockianSyndromes
Summary: The Color Purple. Either feature the color in your work today, or indulge in some purple prose.“What, were you jealous that I was dancing with all the pretty boys while you watched from the bar?”





	Buttons

John couldn’t help but be mesmerized by Sherlock’s body on the dance floor. He moved perfectly in sync with the beat and he seemed to flirt with everyone that made eye contact with him. It didn’t help, of course, that Sherlock’s clothing was practically painted onto him. He was wearing leather trousers that fit snugly in all the right places, and that stupid purple shirt. Sherlock insisted on wearing it even though the buttons threatened to pop off with every move he made.

They were staking out the club for an investigation - Sherlock’s prime suspect in their latest case had been seen getting up close and personal with the victim the night of his death. John managed to weedle a new scrap of information out of the bartender earlier, too. The victim had left the club with the suspect in tow. A few hours later, he was found dead in an alleyway.

Now Sherlock and John were lying in wait for their prey. Or rather, John was waiting - watching too, as Sherlock twisted and turned and winked and brushed up against other dancers. He was slowly seducing everyone in the room.

Including John.

He’d tried to ignore how he felt towards Sherlock for the longest time, but there was no denying it in this moment. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, every fiber of his being aching to be next to Sherlock, to move against him, to have Sherlock smile just for him.

John was so distracted that he didn’t notice the suspect’s presence until his body was pressed up against Sherlock’s, hands on Sherlock’s hips, whispering in his ear. Sherlock froze for a millisecond, his eyes quickly scanning the bar until he made eye contact with John.

_You know what to do._

John took out his mobile and sent a text to Lestrade. _Suspect is at the club. May want to rally the cavalry._

~

“Well, that worked out rather well.”

Sherlock walked up the staircase ahead of John. John forced himself to look down at the steps and not at Sherlock’s ass in those trousers.

“Right.”

They reached the top of the stairs and Sherlock turned around on the landing, his back pressed up against the door to the flat.

“Something on your mind?” A smirk spread across Sherlock’s face.

“Nope. I would just like to go to bed now. It’s late.”

“What, were you jealous that I was dancing with all the pretty boys while you watched from the bar?”

Sherlock meant it in jest, but John felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. This was problematic because the longer John didn’t speak, the more awkward the moment would become.

“No,” he choked out. “No. I wasn’t.”

Sherlock said nothing, but he was looking down at John through his eyelashes, giving him the same look that he’d used to seduce the suspect into going outside with him.

John felt like he was going to burst out of his skin.

“Yes. I was.”

Sherlock sank down a bit against the door, his long legs keeping him balanced. “You don’t exactly hide it well. Flushed skin. Dilated pupils. Would you like me to go on?”

“Do you have any idea how infuriating - ”

“I have some inkling, yes.”

“Let me finish!” John seethed. Sherlock gave him a curt nod.

“Do you have any idea...how infuriatingly sexy you are?”

For a second or two, Sherlock Holmes appeared to be dumbstruck.

“This stupid purple shirt, for example. It hardly fits you. Look at it. The buttons are threatening to burst as we speak.” John reached for the collar, took the fabric of the shirt between his fingers and caressed it. He took a step closer to Sherlock.

“And these bloody trousers. I’m amazed you could get them on, let alone have somebody take them off of you.”

John was pressed up against Sherlock now.

“John.” Sherlock practically moaned his name. John shook his head, a coy smile on his face.

“And when you say my name...all I know is that I don’t want you to say anyone else’s name. Not like that, anyway.”

John grabbed the other side of Sherlock’s collar with his free hand.

“I can’t bear the thought of anyone else touching you. Only me.”

He gripped the collar harder, met Sherlock’s gaze, and proceeded to tug with all his might. And, just as he thought would happen, the buttons popped off of the shirt, flying a short distance before clattering to the floor. The shirt draped around Sherlock’s bare chest, and John ran his hands over the smooth skin before planting his hands firmly on Sherlock’s hips.

Sherlock fumbled for the doorknob behind him.

“That was one of my favorite shirts, you know,” he quipped, his voice husky and rough.

“You’ll find a new one.”

John pulled Sherlock away from the door and kissed him, open-mouthed and filthy. Sherlock groaned and John felt Sherlock slip a little in his arms, knees buckling. Sherlock cradled John’s face in his hands, and they stood on the landing kissing hungrily until they ran out of breath. Sherlock pulled away first.

“I wished you’d been dancing with me. I wanted it to be you.”

John smiled slyly. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later, but now -”

Sherlock nodded. “Inside, yes.”

The shirt was discarded almost immediately, a pool of purple fabric on the floor, ripped and missing all of its buttons.

Sherlock never found a shirt quite like it ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Watson's Woes JWP 2018.


End file.
